


The Men Who Shook Sinatra's Hand

by orphan_account



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Murder, Therapy, Violence, sexual surrogacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is a newly crowned mafioso and Ryan is the son of the previous mob boss who Michael killed in order to take the throne. Their relationship is.... difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

It was never supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be easier.

It was supposed to be simple.

No one was supposed to get hurt.

But people did get hurt. People got hurt real bad.

Ryan’s people; his whole family in fact. And it was Michael’s fault.

Ryan would never forget that. He’d never forgive for that either. The saying goes that you always hurt the one you love; the truth is that it works both ways. You always love the one you hurt. And Michael hurt Ryan.... oh, how he hurt him. Michael hurt Ryan in the worst way: the way that doesn’t hurt at all. He hurt Ryan with soft touches and passionate kisses and promises that were never fulfilled. Michael hurt Ryan by laying him down against the Egyptian cotton sheets of his bed and making love to him in a way that left Ryan trembling all over and begging for more. He made Ryan love him. And that’s what hurt the most.

\--

They have been playing this game for almost three years now. There have been so many instances like this one that Michael can’t even remember them all. What he can remember are Ryan’s predilections.

Ryan always chooses the locally run motels rather than the corporate ones. He doesn’t rent a car. He packs only one small duffel bag with the bare essentials and drinks at whatever bar is closest to his motel. He pays for everything in cash. He doesn’t carry a cell phone, doesn’t have an email address, and uses a fake I.D. when he needs it. He keeps his head down. He doesn’t talk to people and he never, _never ever_ , tries to hook up with anyone. Ryan has become a great little runaway and to be honest, Michael has enjoyed the chase. But enough is enough. Michael has a criminal empire to rule and he can’t do it without Ryan by his side. Whether or not Ryan stands there willingly or not is of no consequence.

This time Michael catches up to Ryan in the California desert; a single stoplight town just a couple miles north of the Mexican border where the tumbleweeds outnumber the people by at least thirty to one. There’s a bar at the edge of town called the _Branding Iron_ and it looks like the sort of place Ryan would go. Michael walks in through the double doors, feels a gust of cool air wisp away the outside heat. He subtly checks the .45 he has tucked into the shoulder holster he’s wearing and straightens his suit jacket, looking quite out of place in a three piece Armani suit while everyone else is in jeans and t-shirts. It doesn’t take long for Michael to find what he’s looking for. He raises himself up to his full height and walks over to the booth where Ryan is sitting, nursing a bottle of Corona with a slice of lime floating around in it.

Ryan looks up at Michael and that’s when Michael remembers why he keeps pursuing someone who obviously wants to be free from him. Ryan’s got eyes like the sky on a cloudless day, skin like a cup of coffee with too much creamer, and a sweet bow of a mouth that Michael hasn’t kissed in ages.

“So you found me,” Ryan says as he picks at the label on the beer bottle. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“That depends,” Michael replies. “Are you gonna run again?”

“No,” Ryan answers in a weary voice. “Been running too long already. I’m tired.”

Michael sighs in relief, places a warm hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, says, “Then let me take you home.”

Ryan says “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Michael and Ryan's relationship began.

* * *

Home for Michael is a heavily fortified compound in Pikesville, about twenty minutes away from the bustling center of Baltimore’s inner harbor. It’s a truly spectacular sight, a cathedral-like property of inscalable stone walls and stained glass windows pitched up like a tent smack dab in the middle of suburbia. Ryan knows his fate is sealed forever when the limo he and Michael are riding in passes through the space left behind by the heavy wrought iron gate as it swings open to accommodate the vehicle. It’s been a long road to where they are now. A road paved with time, tears- mostly Ryan’s- and bullet casings from Michael’s .45. If it wasn’t for the bouquet of red roses occupying the middle seat between Ryan and his part time lover/full time captor he wouldn’t have known that it’s Valentine’s Day. Michael, though ruthless, has always been a romantic at heart. He always does his best to do right by Ryan, even when doing right is actually wrong.

“You couldn’t just get a condo on the Harbor, could you?” Ryan sighs as the limo pulls up to the main house.

“You know better than that, Baby” Ryan tenses at Michael’s use of his pet name. “Kingpins don’t live in condos on the Harbor.”

“Yeah,” Ryan snipes, “instead they walk the halls of their huge ass castle like the Beast searching for Belle.”

Michael smirks, says, “So are you my Belle, then?”

“I’m whoever you want me to be,” Ryan replies, voice dripping with absolute hate. “And that’s all I’ll ever be. Guys like me don’t get happy endings. Guys like me just get guys like you.”

“There are things you don’t forget- can’t forget- and those are usually the things you wish you could forget the most. But they stay in your mind, burrow down through your brain stem, bypass your heart all together and wedge themselves into the crevices of your soul.” Michael says. “I’d rather be that one thing you’ll never forget rather than be the one thing you'll never remember.”

“I’ll never forget you,” Ryan promises. “You’ve made it impossible for me to do otherwise.”

\--

Michael gave Ryan a choice. It was the hardest decision of Ryan’s life but it had to be made. Michael dragged Ryan and the rest of his family out of their beds at some ungodly hour of the deep, dark night and brought them to an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Michael’s crew was there, some with oozies and sawed-off shotguns in hand and others with their hands roped with thick leather leashes holding back snarling pit bulls.

“What if I don’t?” Ryan asked when Michael handed him the gun, his family lined up in a row on their knees before him. Michael was suddenly right there against him, Ryan’s back pressed to the other man’s chest. Michael had one hand digging bruises into Ryan’s hip while the other hand blanketed Ryan’s, curving their intertwined fingers around the trigger of Michael’s .45.

“If you don’t, they’ll suffer,” Michael answered. “I’ll put your sisters out under the red light, turning tricks. I’ll sell your brothers off to whatever rich pedophile will pay me the most. I’ll make your father watch as every member of my crew rapes your mother, all fifteen of them. Then I’ll slice her open and let my dogs eat her insides. And as for your Dad… he’ll have it the worst. I’ll let him live and he’ll have to go through the rest of his life knowing that he failed his family. He’ll have to live with the fact that I get the pleasure of waking up every morning and ruling the kingdom he built, then coming home every night and fucking the heir to his empire.”

“Okay,” Ryan sobs, tears running freely down his face. He can feel Michael steadying his shaking hand. “Just let me say goodbye.”

“No goodbyes,” Michael says, his words a hot exhalation of breath against the shell of Ryan’s ear. “Our kind isn’t given the courtesy of goodbyes. Now squeeze the trigger; don’t pull.” Ryan does as he’s told, letting Michael aim for him as he squeezes the trigger once, twice, and so on until his entire family are just lifeless husks of flesh spread across the floor of the warehouse.

Ryan runs away for the first time three days later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Ryan settle into fake bliss.

* * *

It’s been three months since Michael found Ryan in California and brought him back home. In that time Ryan has forced himself to fall into the role assigned to him. He starts to think of it as a theater production. He plays the part of a loving, attentive partner to Michael’s larger-than-life gangster persona. Ryan is at Michael’s constant beck and call; often rolling out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to accommodate Michael’s schedule. He takes to his tasks with a fervor, telling himself that if this is going to be his life- if he’s to be a trophy held up for all to see; then by God he’ll be the biggest, flashiest, most coveted trophy there ever was.

So Ryan cooks and cleans. He dusts and vacuums. He mops floors and does laundry. He waters houseplants and keeps the flowers in the garden from dieing. He makes beds and fluffs couch cushions and darns Michael’s socks. Hell, he even ties Michael’s tie every morning because Michael can never get the hang of a Double Windsor Knot. And through it all he wears a plastered on smile that only Michael knows is fake. It’s only when it comes to intimacy that Ryan lets his disdain for Michael show.

It’s only then, when Michael shakes through the last few tremors of his orgasm that Ryan lets a sneer take over his mouth. Michael sees it but pays no mind. He simply shifts from his position on top of Ryan, withdrawing his now flaccid member from Ryan’s body as he plops down onto the empty side of the bed.

There’s no condom to dispose of. There is no need. They’re both clean and for some reason only known to himself Michael doesn’t believe in using them.

“It’s not nearly as satisfying if you just lay there,” Michael says conversationally, folding his arms up behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“I agreed to have sex with you,” Ryan replies as he sits up, swings his lower body to the left so he can plant his feet on the plush beige carpet. “I never said anything about actively participating.”

“But you didn’t even come,” Michael huffs, referring to the fact that Ryan's cock is still painfully erect, much to Ryan’s discontent. “I can tell it bothers you. Why won’t you just let me take care of you?”

Ryan feels the blood rush up into his face as he goes red with anger. “Let you take care of me? _You_ take care of _me_?!”

“Yes, Ryan,” Michael deadpans. “That’s what I’d like to do. No man worth having would let their lover go unsatisfied.”

“Stop acting like this is suddenly a real relationship,” Ryan snipes. “All I am is a pet to you. Like a fucking German Shepard you let out of the kennel when you’re bored. If I have to choose between humping your leg or being completely neglected I’d rather run to the end of my chain and bark than give you the gratification of _taking care_ of me.”

Ryan gets up and stomps into the master bath, slamming the door behind himself. He wishes he could lock the door but that’s another one of Michael’s many idiosyncrasies. There are no locked doors in Michael’s house.

People like Michael don’t need locks on their doors.

All people like Michael need is fear.

And it’s because of fear (as well as a healthy dose of hopelessness) that Ryan stays. The unspoken rule of Michael’s house is this: you can leave if you have a better place to go.

Needless to say, Ryan hasn’t left yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan can't pretend anymore and Michael isn't helping at all.

* * *

Ryan is folding laundry when Michael finally comes home. It’s really late, almost two in the morning, but Michael’s always kept peculiar hours and he automatically expects Ryan to keep the same schedule because he’s just that much of an inconsiderate bastard. They’ve reached some kind of unspoken truce. Ryan does what he’s told and Michael leaves him be for the most part. There is the obligatory weekly fuck disguised as a spontaneous lovemaking session but while Michael always says “I love you,” when it’s over he doesn’t go as far as to ask Ryan to return the sentiment.

That is a line even Michael won’t cross.

Instead they cultivate a delicate understanding that as long as Ryan doesn’t try to run off like he did before, Michael will make sure that Ryan wants for nothing. Well, nothing except his freedom.

So now Ryan listens as Michael putters his way around the house, looking for him. “I’m in here,” Ryan calls out after a few minutes. He folds a pair of Michael’s boxer briefs and stacks them on top of an ever-growing pile of undergarments, waits for Michael to find him. A few moments later Michael rounds the corner and appears in the doorway with his hands behind his back.

“I got you something,” Michael says.

“What is it this time?” Ryan asks, his flat tone voicing his disinterest. Michael’s been buying him expensive gifts lately, as if he’s trying to woo him the way he did when he and Ryan first began whatever it is that they have together. So far this week Ryan has received a dazzling Audemars Piguet watch absolutely dripping with diamonds, three pairs of custom high top sneakers from Giuseppe Zanotti, and a fully restored cherry red 1958 Plymouth Fury just like the one from Ryan’s favorite Stephen King novel, _Christine_. It makes Ryan sick; Michael buying him a car he’s not even allowed to drive anywhere because Michael doesn’t trust him enough for that.

“It’s not an _‘it’_ ” Michael says as he brings his hands out from behind his back. “It’s a _‘she’_.”

Ryan looks up from the inside out Henley shirt he’s trying to turn right side out again and feels his heart break a little. Michael’s holding a mewling mass of jet black fluff with huge neon green eyes. Michael asks, “What are you going to name her?” as he holds the tiny kitten out for Ryan to take.

“Pickles,” Ryan answers, taking hold of the little animal and cradling it close to his chest.

“Pickles?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to name our cat Pickles?”

“She’s not _our_ cat,” Ryan snipes, holding the kitten even closer. “She’s _my_ cat and I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want.”

“Okay, okay” Michael acquiesces, holding his arms up in a gesture of surrender. “Pickles it is then.”

“Yes, that’s your name” Ryan coos to the kitten, ignoring Michael in hopes that he will get the message and go away. “Your name is Pickles, oh yes it is.”

“Baby, are you coming to bed?” Michael asks, voice hinting at the fact that he wants to do more in bed than just sleep. Ryan flinches at the use of the petname the way he always does but for some reason a fury of terrifying proportions stirs up inside of him. Maybe it’s because Michael is acting as if Ryan can be bought. Maybe it’s because Ryan’s been holding his tongue for too long. Maybe it’s just the fact that looking down at the poor little animal in his hands makes Ryan realize that he’s just as helpless, just as trapped. Whatever the reason, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Eat shit and die, _Sweetheart_ ,” Ryan snarls as he elbows his way past Michael, then disappears down the hall and into the guest bedroom. Once there, Ryan collapses against the mattress and holds Pickles close to him, finally letting himself cry. He sobs, weeping from a place in his soul he thought he’d left back in California all those months ago. Pickles mews softly, licks at the lines of wetness Ryan’s tears leave on his face. Eventually, Ryan cries himself to sleep. When he wakes up in the morning Michael is gone, but there is a single long stemmed red rose sitting on the nightstand and a yellow sticky note.

The note reads, " _Happy Third Anniversary._ "


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Ryan have a conversation that is long overdue.

* * *

Michael doesn’t come home for three days.

Ryan is torn between a feeling of relief and one of worry. He can’t believe that even after all they’ve been through, the thought of Michael being away from home for so long without telling him why is unsettling. In the meantime Ryan does his best to go about his routine, adjusting it so it now includes Pickles’ feeding time and play time. It turns out that Michael had set up everything the little feline would need before he left. There’s food and water dishes in a corner of the kitchen, a litter box in the spare bathroom and a cat tree in a once unoccupied corner of the living room. There are scratching posts placed here and there throughout the house as well as a wicker basket full of toys near the front door. Ryan places Pickles down on the living room floor and she goes straight for the cat tree, voicing her approval with a series of mews and purrs as she begins to explore her new territory.

Ryan leaves her be and shuffles into the kitchen to make himself some coffee, all the while pondering what all this could mean for his and Michael’s supposed relationship. He can honestly say he never truly hated anyone until he met Michael, but he has to admit that he also never truly loved anyone until he met Michael. There’s a part of his heart that says to just give in, give up the fight, and just try to be happy. but it is soon silenced by a gruesome memory flashing across Ryan’s consciousness. Just one blink and he’s back there in that warehouse with Michael plastered up behind him, their hands touching as Michael helps him steady the gun and tells him to squeeze the trigger, not pull. Ryan hears the gunshots all over again and suddenly feels his feet go out from under him. He lets his body slump to the tiled floor and there he stays until he can breathe again. About an hour later Ryan hears the sound of the front door opening and he instantly knows that it’s Michael. He gets up and makes his way to the foyer, where Michael is hanging up his coat in the coat closet.

The first thing Ryan does when he and Michael are finally within arms length of each other is backhand the other man across the face. The power of the strike itself is so strong it makes an audible sound when flesh meets flesh and it gives Ryan a sense of demented glee for about ten seconds.

Then all he feels is a flood of worry and fear.

“You bastard! Where were you?” Ryan growls, his hand tingling from the force of the blow. “Don’t you ever leave and not tell me where you’re going or when you’ll be back. If I’m not allowed to take off whenever I feel like it then neither are you!”

“You punched me,” Michael says in an awed tone, holding the side of his face which is rapidly turning a deep shade of red.

“I slapped you with an open hand,” Ryan corrects him. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“No one’s ever hit me before,” Michael says in that same confounded tone, as if he can’t string together a rational thought. “Not even when I got in trouble as a kid.”

Ryan scoffs, says, “Well, I’m honored that I had the privilege of being the first. See, unlike you, I don’t have to hide behind the barrel of a gun. I know how to raise my hand to someone. You’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“How can you be like this?” Michael asks. “How can you treat me like shit and then worry about me?”

“It’s a fucking _gift_ , or something,” Ryan replies. “That’s the thing about you and me. I love you and I hate you all at the same time. If you want the love then you’ve gotta take the hate too cause that’s the only way I know how to give it.”

“I just can’t win with you can I?” Michael sighs. “No matter what I do, I just can’t win.”

“This isn’t a game, Michael,” Ryan says. “This is real life. And in real life, especially our life, no one ever wins.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pickles facilitates Ryan's personal epiphany.

* * *

Michael develops a nasty looking bruise on the side of his face where Ryan slapped him. It starts out as a livid red color but darkens more and more over the next three days until it is a deep purple in the middle with a mottled spattering of green, brown, and yellow around the edges. Ryan almost feels bad.

Almost.

Both he and Michael know that the action itself was well warranted; what’s got Ryan all mixed up inside is the conversation that went along with the action. Ryan feels cut open, left raw. Michael has never been one to show undue emotion and the mere fact that Ryan could do something that would shock Michael- that would break past the brick wall Michael’s built around himself- well, that shocks Ryan too.

As the bruise begins to fade over a matter of weeks Ryan notices a difference in Michael. For the first time in their entire relationship he starts showing Ryan some respect. Michael gives him his space. He stops insisting that Ryan sleep in the master bedroom with him. Instead he allows Ryan to sleep in the guest bedroom. Ryan is glad for it because if there’s one thing Ryan would hate to have to deal with right now it would be having to wake up surrounded by Michael’s scent. That smell of gunpowder, black coffee, and old library books; the smell Ryan’s more primitive mind will always name as _Lover_ , _Protector_ , and _Friend_.

Michael also does his best not to ask Ryan for things he can do himself. Well, he tries to anyway.

Ryan wakes up to the smell of burnt toast for a few days in a row and has to explain to Michael that when you do laundry you have to separate the light clothes from the dark ones. Ryan finally has to step in when Michael almost loses an eye trying to take Pickles for a walk, the little feline refusing to get hooked into the tiny green harness and matching leash Michael bought for her.

“You should know better, Michael,” Ryan says informedly as he dabs at the pretty heinous scratch just above Michael’s left eye with a cotton ball soaked in peroxide. They’re both crowded up near the bathroom counter, Michael sitting in the open space between the double sinks, legs open to Ryan can step between them and get at his face. The position is a familiar one but for a radically different reason. “Cats don’t go on walks.”

“Some of them do,” Michael replies. “I looked it up. There are tons of videos of it on YouTube.” He flinches at the sting of the peroxide, tries to turn his face away until Ryan is forced to grip his chin so he can’t move his head.

“Well, those cats aren’t Pickles,” Ryan sighs. “Pickles is an inside cat. That means no harnesses, no leashes, and no walks.”

“Oh,” Michael says, his posture deflating a bit. “Okay.”

It’s then that Ryan finally gets it. No matter what their past, the simple truth is this: Michael is lost without him.

He might be able to fool other people but Michael can’t fool Ryan…. not anymore. Michael needs Ryan. Michael needs him from when he gets out of bed in the morning until he lays his head down on his pillow at night. Michael needs Ryan to cook him breakfast and tie his tie. He needs Ryan to make his lunch reservation at his favorite restaurant. He needs Ryan to pay all their bills online and make sure that everyone working under Michael gets a fair kickdown of cash for their loyalty. He needs Ryan to make him dinner and keep the shampoo bottles in the shower full. He needs Ryan to check the mail and water the houseplants and clean his .45 and get the bloodstains out of his suits when a ‘business’ meeting goes sour. He needs Ryan next to him in bed, close enough so that he can smell Ryan’s cinnamon toothpaste. He needs to hear the steady rhythm of Ryan’s breathing beside him so he can fall asleep. And most of all, he needs Ryan to be there the next day so he can do it all again.

The rule in Michael’s house is this: you can leave if you have someplace better to go.

Until just now, Ryan didn’t understand that the rule applied to Michael too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gives Ryan a rather peculiar gift. Ryan accepts it without really knowing why.

* * *

“I can’t make you love me,” Michael surmises. “But maybe you’ll let me at least make you a little bit happy.”

Ryan looks at Michael, then at the tall stranger Michael’s brought home with him, then back at Michael.

“You bought me a hooker?” Ryan growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “A fucking hooker, Michael? Are you _insane_?”

“My name is Dr. Matt Grevers,” the tall stranger says, drawing Ryan’s attention away from Michael. “And I’m not a hooker. I’m a psychotherapist. I specialize in sexual surrogacy. Do you know what that means?”

“It means you’re a very well compensated hooker,” Ryan deadpans. He leans down when he feels Pickles rubbing up against his bare feet, scoops up the tiny feline and cradles her in the crook of his left arm, setting his other arm against his side in a pose that demonstrates his frustration.

“Mr. Phelps apprised me of your current situation when he requested my services,” Matt says in a steady, confident voice as if he’s said the same words a thousand other times. “I will repeat to you what I told him. I am here for you and only you. Michael has no control over what happens or doesn’t happen between us. If you ask me to stay, I will stay. If you ask me to leave, you’ll never see me again.”

“You can stay,” Ryan finally says after a poignant pause. “But if you stay, Michael leaves-”

“I can do that if that’s what you want,” Michael interjects.

“For the whole weekend,” Ryan finishes as he turns his gaze to Michael, speaking directly to him. “I’ll book you a room at the Pier 5 Hotel and you’re to stay there for the whole weekend. You are not allowed to call me unless it is literally a life or death situation. I don’t want to have to answer my phone just because you want to know where the nearest sushi restaurant is or which credit card has the highest limit. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist to me for the next three days. If I have to pick up my phone you better have a loaded gun to your head or I will bring all Hell down on you. Lastly, you are not to come home until I call and say you can.”

“What if I have to wear a tie somewhere? How am I supposed to tie it?” Michael asks pathetically.

“Pull up a _How To_ video on YouTube or ask one of your lackeys. I’m not the only living soul in the state of Maryland that can tie a tie,” Ryan answers. “I’m serious, Michael. If you’re letting me have this then step back, let go for a little while, and let me have it.”

“Okay,” Michael says in a small voice. “Will you pack my overnight bag for me?”

“Yes, Michael” Ryan replies. “I’ll pack your bag. Why don’t you show Dr. Grevers to the guest bedroom while I do that.” Ryan goes about packing Michael’s overnight bag, Pickles watching him and mewing from the spot on Michael’s bed where Ryan set her down when he walked in the room. He can hear the deep rumblings of a hushed conversation floating all around him but pays it no mind. Ryan finishes his task and meets Michael at the front door.

Michael leans in and places a kiss on Ryan’s cheek as he takes the bag. He whispers, “Happy Birthday, Baby.” into Ryan’s ear in a defeated tone and leaves.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan discovers that fidelity means more to him than he thought it did.

* * *

Ryan tries.

He really does.

But he just can't do it.

He realizes this about twenty minutes after sending Michael on his way. He watches the good Dr. Grevers undress and though the man before him is attractive as well as well-endowed, he's not Michael.

And therein lies the problem.

Ryan almost feels like crying. He flinches away when the other man tries to touch him, finds himself saying, "No. No." and "I'm sorry." and "I can't."

Dr. Grevers puts his clothes back on, sets Ryan at ease by saying, "We can just talk. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Ryan sighs, "I mean, Michael and I.... he's no saint and we've got our problems, and I swear sometimes I just hate him so much but-"

"But he's the one you're with," Dr. Grevers finishes Ryan's sentence.

"Yeah," Ryan nods. "I just can't do it. It feels like cheating and no matter how bad Michael may treat me, I have never been and will never be a cheater."

"Why do you think you've stuck around for as long as you have?" Dr. Grevers asks. "Michael told me there was a time when you kept skipping town. Why not just do that if you're so unhappy? If you hate it here so much then why do you stay?"

"Because I'm tired of running," Ryan answers. "And even more than that- Michael's lost without me. He needs me and I need him to need me. He's all I have left in the world. I may hate him for what he's done to me but deep down inside the love is still there and it won't go away."

"It sounds to me like you and Michael need to have a very serious conversation very, very soon." Dr. Grevers concludes.

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs. "I guess we do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Michael finally come to terms.

* * *

“Come home, Michael,” Ryan says as soon as the other man answers his phone. “Right now.”

“But what about Dr. Grevers?” Michael asks. “I’ve only been gone an hour.”

“I sent Dr. Grevers back to wherever you found him at,” Ryan sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose as he continues. “He wasn’t… I mean, we didn’t… I- I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want him, Michael. I wanted you. I still do; I want you.”

“Do you mean it?” Michael’s voice wavers. “You really want me?”

“Yes, Michael,” Ryan answers earnestly. “I want you. Come home. Come be with me.”

Michael says “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” and hangs up.

\--

When Michael makes it home he charges through the front door and straight into Ryan’s waiting arms. Their lips meet in a hard kiss and it’s like the first time they kissed all over again. Michael’s lips are unforgiving against Ryan’s, his tongue delving into the depths of Ryan’s mouth with an intent to proclaim.

“ _This is why_ ,” Michael says with the kiss. “ _This is why I’ll never let you go. You feel too good. You feel too damned good._ ”

“Oh God,” Ryan gasps when they break apart. He’s feeling a high he hasn’t felt in forever. Michael is all around him, hands grasping at clothing trying to get at Ryan’s skin. He makes short work of Ryan’s t-shirt and his sweatpants until Ryan stands naked before him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Michael says in a honeyed voice as he pulls Ryan against him, skin sliding against the material of Michael’s wool suit.“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

From the way things are going Ryan judges that they’re not likely to make it to a bed in time so instead he pulls Michael into the living room and tumbles both of their bodies down onto the couch. He can’t remember ever wanting someone as much as he wants Michael now; the need inside of him grows until he’s practically whimpering with it. “Take this off,” Ryan pants, tugging at Michael’s belt. “Take it off. All of it.”

“Jesus Christ, Ry,” Michael moans. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Everything.” Ryan replies as he begins to nip and suck at Michael’s neck. “Absolutely everything.”


End file.
